No Means No
by CraftyNotepad
Summary: Hypothesis: Sometimes 'no' means 'yes,' and 'stop' means 'I like it. More, please'
1. 7

Disclaimer: If Disney doesn't air the Christmas Break episode of Phil of the Future this year, I call dibs on it, since they don't know what to do with it and I'd like to own it; which is to say, I don't presently own Phil of the Future, but I'd happily accept it as a present under my tree. Ho! Ho! Ho!

**"No" Means No.**

7

"Just sit, don't talk to anyone, and think about what you did!" barked Vice-Principal Hackett, his voice somewhat faltering from shock. This sort of thing just didn't happen at H. G. Wells, especially when he was in temporary command. Consciously, he forced himself to make the effort to release the boy's collar, along with his neck, as he plunked the quiet punk in a chair just inside the main office. At least the little jerk was keeping his mouth shut, for once. "I'll be right back, I just need to - Via - Get back inside Nurse Krinsky's office," Hackett attempted to sound gingerly, but he simply couldn't pull it off and instead came across as exasperated with the entire experience - not the signal that inspires empathy. Olivia, still numb, followed his instruction in slow motion. She wasn't talking to anyone, hadn't since Owen ...

Shaking and fidgety, a dangerous combination for a school nurse, Krinsky was running about her little health office, adrenaline pumping, reminding herself that she really needed to find a less upsetting position. Pausing long enough to consider her patient, her first concern was shock. Snatching a blanket off a cot, she slowed her actions down enough to place it about Olivia's shoulders with a smile of compassion. The Astronaut Blue throw covered what remained of the brunette's blouse, ripped and torn, buttons nowhere to be seen. There were some scratches and scrapes, perhaps a bruise forming, but it could have been so much worse. The Florence Nightingale of Bactine moved away to retrieve the antiseptic, but thought better of it and sat down on the examining table next to the young woman. Comfort was better medicine, she concluded, plus, it didn't sting.

"Owen?" whispered a stunned assault victim.

"Don't worry about him. That's the last thing you should be worried about. How are you? That's the big question, Sweetheart; 'how are you?' Oh, where's Debbie when I need her?" Krinsky pondered, her left hand rubbing little "O"s over Olivia's spine. Olivia straightened, and Krinsky slowed her massage, unsure if she caused her pain, or if the student was steeling herself for what lie ahead.

A.N. - Not an alternative universe story. Everyone's in character, just wait and see. Just a little something that came to me, inspired by the encouraging recent arrival of new writers and reviewers here, so while it may not come across as Christmassy, it is a present to all, as all tales here are. - CN


	2. 6

**Disclaimer: But I don't wish to disclaim. I want to claim Phil of the Future. It deserves to be claimed, taken home and loved. I promise I'll feed it, pick up after it and even take it on walkies. Can I have it, please?**

**"No" Means No.**

**6**

After watching the ambulance leave with its charge, Neil Hackett feebly attempted to remember his administrative/spelling bee proctor training for a clue on what to do next. There'd have to be an investigation, parents contacted, the police, oh, and the School Board would expect a complete report, a report that could never surface in the Pickford Gazette if he ever wanted to be more than a high school vice-principal - heck, if he ever wanted another paycheck. This could get messy for him if he didn't have a clear confession, preferably in writing, as to what happened and remove the offender from the school immediately. Pressure. Those two remnants of hair failed as dikes, allowing perspiration to begin weeping into his eyes, turning them red. He remembered something: A leader should always look his best to inspire respect. The Diffys' next-door neighbor straightened his socks, tucked in his shirt, and mopped his brow with a handkerchief so colorful that would have made a chuck wagon cook red with embarrassment. Yes, he'd have to have the guilty party punished immediately, without perceivable prejudice, and to the fullest extent possible, because those are the key elements the Pickford school board would remember having been implemented, or his failing to do so.

Entering the building, he was only half-surprised to find the once occupied chair now Owenless.

"Owen?" queried the apprehensive administrator, more than a little afraid of what he'd find. Where? Who? How? Via! If Owen had gotten to her before she'd manage to give her statement ...

"Over here, Mr. H." the blonde sequoia echoed. Plump Miss Desmocker smiled, a scruffy, grinning young man arched over her, one hand on her computer monitor, his other on the back of her chair.

"Owen was just helping me contact his parents, Mister - I mean, Vice-Principal Hackett."

"Yes, well, thank you, Owen. Maybe you better wait for them in my office."

"I'm fine, here, Mr. H."

"But I'm not fine with you here, so please take a seat in my office."

"Sure, whatever," casually agreed the teenager, scoring a handful of old Halloween candies from the secretary's goodie bowl before departing to be alone in Neil Hackett's office ... perhaps this wasn't the ideal arrangement. If only Pim Diffy hadn't submarined his proposed velcro-walled time out room - illegal form of detention and imprisonment, indeed! Confident, Neil Hackett had convinced himself, if not anyone else, that his idea was an engaging entertainment alternative to the classic detention room. If only Pim hadn't displayed the Junior Entomology Club's displays of insects trapped under glass.

"Mr. Hackett?"

"Now, what?" escaped Hackett's lips before he could do anything to prevent it or the eyes upon him when those two simple words were uttered. Beads of sweat were beginning to pool on parts of his body - that won't do anyone any good to imagine.

"Do you want to hear what Via told me now?"

"Yes, more than anything," replied with conviction, feeling those raised eyebrows lower as he took charge of the situation by placing the victimized student first in his concerns.

"Telephone for you."

"Take a message, whoever it is. Olivia comes first," Hackett announced, his projected sincerity training class finally kicking in as he marched toward the nurse's office.

"But, Sir, it's Principal Tillywack."


	3. 5

******Disclaimer:** Lost holiday episodes I wish Disney would broadcast:

A Christmas Carol staring Pim Diffy as Scrooge,  
Groundhogs' Day with Lloyd Diffy organizing the party for his children's friends,  
Aluminum Siding Week,  
Valentine's Day - just because,  
Happy Aliens' Day,  
April Fool's Day - Pim's own holiday, but Barbara showing off her own pranking past,  
Wizrds' Appreciate Week,  
Lobster Remembrance Night with a trip to the beach to perform the Dance of the Lobsters,  
And, of course, Take Your Daughter and/or Robot to Work Day.

Until then, I'll just have to come to terms with a TV Guide which is sadly lacking, and the realism of not owning Phil of the Future. I asked Disney for it again and again, but I was informed:

**"No" Means No.**

**5**

He reminded himself later that it was a no brainer what to do next. He had to do what was best ... for himself.

Coloring his voice with frivolity, "How's the fact-finding tour going, Boss? Where are you now?"

"The Riviera. Can you believe it? Did you know that you can wear one of those micro swimsuits and not stand out here? And the women, they've found a new fashion use for dental floss."

"That's great. Um, the fact-finding?"

"Oh, yes, well, it seems that there may indeed be a correlation between refrigerated water coolers and higher student test scores -"

"Gee, really? That's fascinating, so I guess you'll be coming -."

"- but it still needs more - WOW! Will you look at her!"

"What? WHAT?" hungered the vice-principal saddled with the duty of denying any appearance of teenage bellybuttons on school grounds.

"You'd have be here to believe it, Neil. So, what's this about an assault on my campus?"

"How'd you hear about that so quickly? It just happened."

"I have my sources. That's how I got to be Principal. Keep that in mind and maybe someday you'll have a big office, too."

Neil Hackett scanned the faces of the staff surrounding him. Which ones, he wondered, snitched? And where did Tillywack get off calling this "his" campus? Who could even remember the last time he'd set foot on H. G. Wells's soil? Talk about a total lack of school spirit, about being self-centered, about a complete disregard for the welfare of the students, about ... oh, yeah, "Via".

"I'll remember that. Thank you. SCKRIIZST - SXXKKS - CKUSS - Sorry, Boss. Long distance line -attic on line. You're -aching up. You're aching up. I'll sen- report when - Enjoy the view. Arrivederci!" Involving his penchant for sound effects, Neil terminated the bothersome telephone call, but now those office eyeballs seemed super glued to the back of his neck. Spinning around, he challenged his onlookers with the steeliest gaze he could muster, daring them to answer with a single word, "What?"

"I thought people only pulled that in old movies," came the comment from deep in his own office. Snickering erupted, each silenced by Hackett's beady eyes.

"Quiet, Owen."

"Really, really, really old movies."

"Ohh-wen!"

"Maybe silent ones, or ones before telephones."

In a hushed tone, Mr. Hackett begged for a positive answer, "Miss Desmocker, please tell me you've contacted all the parents involved, especially HIS."

"Almost all, Mr. H."

"(Groan) And please, never call me that again."


	4. 4

**Disclaimer:** I may not own PotF, yet I know that Disney goes through child stars like kleenex, but they really blew their chances by not continuing with Phil of the Future. Gesundheit.

**"No" Means No.**

**4**

"Did the school say what he did this time?"

"No, but it doesn't matter. I'm not moving again."

His parents arrived simultaneously in the school parking lot. This wasn't their first command appearance for their son. True, mostly it had been humorous, lame pranks Owen had pulled on a lark without thinking. His father was always telling him that he had to think more. His mother? Well, she hadn't given up on her little boy, but as he delved deeper into the teenager years, like most parents, she resigned herself to being able to do little more than worry about him, when he'd make it home at night, where he had been out doing what, and why addressed to "PHIL DIFFY" those magazines in brown paper wrappers had been appearing for months now in the family mailbox. Now this. The school secretary didn't offer up any details, except that Owen had been involved with an assault on campus. Taking one another's hands, both of Owen's parents hoped their son was okay.

In Vice-Principal Neil Hackett's office, the door was closed and it was very quiet, but for the adults sighing. Owen, minus some blood on his shirt that was not his own, appeared fine and sported that ridiculous grin of his.

"Well ..." Mr. Hackett tried to get the discussion moving, but didn't know where to go from there.

"Yes. Perhaps you can explain the situation, Mr. Hackett?"

Vice-Principal Hackett normally would have pointed out his titled position blatantly displayed upon his desk name plate, but considering the serious nature of this meeting, he let it slide, for now. "The situation - is this: our school has a zero tolerance policy for assaults, and Owen has been involved in an assault."

"He doesn't appear harmed."

"That's because Owen did the harming."

Owen smirked.

"This is serious, young man," all three adults told him as if they'd rehearsed it.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Hackett uttered this practiced phrase which carried no more meaning than "have a nice day," "but 'zero-tolerance' means just that. Owen will -"

"Suspended?"

"- expelled." Hackett was serious. Not the kind of serious that he displayed over his sweater selection serious, but actual this-is-my-job serious. "Perhaps a neighboring school district will allow you to enroll him, Handsome Town High, perhaps, and there's always the G.E.D. or home schooling. I have some rather nice pamphlets right here for you to take with you."

Owen's father accepted the too attractive brochure-stuffed gift bag uncomfortably. Something was amiss here. Maybe it was the bright red bow?

"Son, did you do what Mr. Hackett is accusing you of?" Hackett stiffened, not enjoying his word being accepted as less than fact.

"Uh-huh ... and I'd do it again."

"You both heard him," Hackett insisted. "He admitted assaulting a classmate. I'm sorry; however, my hands are tied here, People. Owen, you're on suspension until the explusion order is processed. You'll just need to sign a confession telling -"

The door burst open and Olivia stumbled inside, followed by an apologizing Miss Desmocker, "I'm so sorry, Mr. - Vice-Principal Hackett. I told her she'd have to wait."

Finding her footing, Olivia moved directly behind Owen and wrapped her arms about his throat.

"Will you relax, Vee? (GaG!) You're choking me."


	5. 3

**Disclaimer:** Have to admit that I'm disappointed in "Hellcats." The writing was just too predictable, but it's the characters which disappoint even more. When Keely and Phil were in a jam, we cared what happened to them, but selfish, self-absorbed cheerleaders? I've given my answer before and still stand by it:

**"No" Means No.**

3

Nearly in a headlock, Owen couldn't moved as Via grabbed him ever more tightly about his neck, the sides of their skulls pressed together until she rotated her and Owen was awfully sure she was giving him a kiss, then another, and another.

"Unhand him at once, Miss Cobbler*!"

If Owen could have breathed, he would have protested. Olivia, finally! And now ... MR. H.! But nothing came out. This was not the reserved Via he was familiar with, the cold-shouldered lass quick to sever conversations. No, definitely not, so all of Owen's protesting would have been directed at the buttinsky Hackett, the dillweed.

Ignoring Hackett, Via proclaimed a heartfelt thank you to rapidly shading purple Owen. Truly confused over the purpose of this meeting now, his parents studied Owen and the girl clinging to their rapidly suffocating son; why was he smiling? It was impossible to confirm now, but his mother deduced that once the surplus blood drained away from his face, her son would indeed be blushing. A few minutes passed before confirmation, well after Via relaxed her embrace, though never quite breaking contact. She had her reasons.

"Looks to me like this has all has been a big misunderstanding, Mr. Hackett. Let's go, Son," declared Mr. Norad more to Mr. Hackett than anyone else, including Owen. Like any normal parent, being called to vice-principal's office drummed up all the uneasiness of his own school days and he wanted to get out of here fast and back to the real world. Problem was, Neil Hackett actually believed jr./sr. high school was part of the real world.

"Not so fast, Folks. Olivia, let go of Owen. Nothing has changed here. Owen still assaulted an H. G. Wells student."

"Clearly, that's not true, Mr. Hackett. Just look at the girl. She's hardly acting like someone assaulted," offered Mrs. Norad. A logical argument. Logical. Incorrect, nonetheless.

"That's an entirely separate issue, People. Via, get outside."

Via Cobbler ignored the authority in his own office, "I certainly was assaulted, Mr. and Mrs. Norad, but not by your son. Owen was wonderful."

Via's revelation injected a new dose of hope in the minds of the parents of the boy she maintained her arms around like a wreath. Olivia wasn't going anywhere or being silent no matter how much Hackett gave her the evil eye, and Hackett couldn't really order her out anymore and expect Owen's parents to cooperate now that Via had dropped that bombshell. Green cabbages! The papers would have a field day with this for certain, then. Too late, Owen's mother was now pressing Via for a full story.

"It all started after I sat down in my Algebra II class and realized that I forgot my math homework in the library where Keely and were studying. Ms. Levy was kind enough to write me a hall pass allowing me to retrieve it. The hallways were empty, and the cold drinking fountain looked so inviting, so I treated myself to a cold refreshing drink; I think cold water helps me concentrate in class."

Breathless, Via caught hers, noticing for the first time that all eyes were upon her and no one, not even her beady-eyed administrator was blinking, let alone interrupting her, and Owen? Her one of her hands remained hooked about his neck, he was holding her other - not for any of his usual teenaged hound dog reasons. No, he wasn't even trying to be romantic. He was - being supportive. All of a sudden, Via found his impish smile adorable; she didn't even mind the mustard left in the corner of his mouth. It looked cute. So did it's wearer.

Renewed, Olivia continued, "I didn't take much notice of him coming up behind me. Just another student wanting a drink, so I cut mine short. It was -"

"Stop!" interrupted Mr. Hackett. "The other student has rights, so it would be wrong to accuse him of anything here."

"But," Via rebutted, "you're accusing Owen!"

"That's right!" chimed in his parents.

"Th-that's completely different. Um, because, uh, Oh! Owen has confessed. Yes, that's it, and since he's confessed, we're here only to discuss Owen. The other boy will remain anonymous."

"Bruno Longfellow. First string quarterback of the football team," volunteered Owen, grinning bigger than ever.

Hackett offered Owen a glare made up an amalgam of embarrassment and loathing, but said nothing, so Via, encouraged by Owen's mother, continued her recollection.

"Bruno took just a sip, then started chatting me up. School, last Tuesday's game, the upcoming game ... he came across as polite, but I detected a film of insincerity in his conversation, so I told him good-bye, even gave him a Yank 'have a nice day' when he told me that he was a special mission for the Booster Club and needed my help just for a couple of minutes. Why didn't he get some of his teammates to help out, I asked. His reply made perfect sense: it was food. Well, everybody's aware that American football players are just stomachs with muscles, so I agreed to help if we were quick - I still need to get to the library, look for my homework, and return to class. Bruno promise me that it would just take two shakes, then told me how much he appreciated it. I was a fool."

Owen's thumb was rubbing against the inside of Via's palm where no one else could see. This calmed Via as she told her experience, keeping her voice steady and relaxed, though she was shaking on the outside. Maybe she'd been too fast to form an opinion about the sandy-haired lad. Perhaps he had some real potential, indeed. His neck soon felt a long awaited massage.

"Bruno led me into the gymnasium, and there certainly was a great deal of food to deliver. Walking over to the pile of shopping bags against the wall, I asked him where we were delivering them to, as I was picking up the first set of bags from the floor." Via swallowed hard, made a great effort to steel herself so she could continue. "I remarked that there was so much food. This was going to take more that 'two shakes.' Bruno asked me what was my hurry, then picked me up along with the bags I was holding and marched me out of view of the entrance, along side one of the vending machines. I tried to get free, but he was too big, too strong. My blouse tore in the struggle. I don't think he meant that to happen, but he hung on to my wrists and forced me to the gym floor. I tried to scream, but he silenced me with his mouth. Heaviness on top of me, I couldn't wriggle free."

Via paused again, but she looked relaxed for the first time since she started. She smiled, turned away from the adults in the room, and looked at the face of her hero. "Then Owen came in."

"Hey, I was hungry. I'm usually late to my Earth Science class -"

"I KNOW," coldly contributed Mr. H.

"Dude, I get the munchies."

A starring contest ensued. Had this taken the path Neil Hackett originally envisioned, he'd have had a good chance of triumphing over the tenth grader. As it was, no contest.

"I have my regular snack attacks during school and teacher don't appreciate the need, nay, the importance potato chips play in learning, 'snackatude,' I call it. Today, though, I was craving something sweet, so I took a detour and headed away from the cafeteria's vending machines and made way for the high carbs sitting in the gym's. I think I was going to choose either a Strawberry Sugar Bomb, a Mocha Mine, or one of those Señor Nougat candy bars. I tend to - ouch!"

Via squeezed Owen's fingers a tad harder than she intended. If it had been up to her, she would have given him all the time in the world, but he wasn't helping his case and needed to be reminded to stick to the reason everyone was gathered. Once over the initial pain, Owen stared into Via's eyes, only to make out a slight nod and raising eyebrows. A few moments later, her message registered.

"En-nee-way, I peeked into the gym and the coast was clear, so was so busy digging the change out of my pockets that I almost stepped on Via and Bruno. Bruno shouted at me to get out, and, for a moment I almost did, thinking I had just come across a secret romantic rendezvous. Then I saw Via's face struggle to appear from underneath Bruno's head, just her eyes." Gazing, Owen was not simply looking into Via's eyes now. "She didn't say a word, which is uncharacteristic, first off." Via let that pass. "She didn't have to; her eyes said, pleaded, everything. Then I just cut loose."

"You lost control," added Hackett, trying to put words in his mouth.

"No. I knew exactly what I was doing and I'd do it again. He was hurting Via and if I hadn't come in ..." Everyone witnessed Owen's eyes starting to water. Via felt his grip tighten, then relax, almost releasing hers.

"How's the other boy?" Mrs. Norad asked.

Hackett's voice was shaky, "We don't know the extent of his injuries. There was some blood, obviously, and he was semiconscious when the ambulance arrived."

"So, happy endings all around," declared Owen's dad. "Via was rescued. Bruno got what he deserved, and our son's a hero."

"An expelled hero," slipped in the Vice-Principal. "Zero-tolerance, remember?" and try as he might, he couldn't stop smiling.

Via? She felt victimized for the second time today, especially when Hackett giggled.

*Author's Note: Due to the manner in which Mr. Hackett addresses students (Miss Teslow, Mr. Diffy, Mr. Speckle), a last name for Via was needed in this chapter, thus a search began, starting with the 100 most common British names, maybe something that would be humorous or embarrassing when tacked on the end of Via, even a rhyming word (Olivia Passion? - Oh-Live-Via-Passion? Olivia Bolivia?); something common (Olivia Brown, Whyte, Grey) or something highbrow (Chauncey, Flauntleroy). There are the roots of English surnames generated from occupations: Sawyer from one who saws, Chapman for shopkeepers, and Taylor from one who sews. Taylor - fashion? That sounded like Via and Keely at the Street Fair looking for clothing bargains, but what really screams "Via?" SHOES! That settled it, she's a Cobbler. No? Aw, come on. Don't be sole-less!


	6. 2

**Disclaimer:** The gumshoes continued their barrage of questioning under the hot light, "Where were you on the night of the 14th? What did you do with the gun? Did you do it, and, most importantly, do you own Phil of the Future?"  
"No! You've been asking me for hours and keep telling you the same thing. Don't you two flatfoots understand? I told you "no" and ...

**"No" Means No.**

2

"In three, two, ..." On cue, Phil's voice fell silent as the eye piece docked with his right eye. A well-practiced maneuver, he made one final adjustment to the image's focus before Keely commanded center stage once more.

"Hello, I'm Keely Teslow and this is a special H. G. Wells report: Crisis On Campus. I'm here in the gym where just minutes ago two attacks took place here. One, allegedly, in retribution for the other. While I can't reveal the names of the students involved, this reporter can share that the both the attacks happened here, involving two sophomores and a junior," she noticed Phil lifting his head away from the camera and mouthing the "A-word." "The junior - allegedly - being on the Astronauts' football team, allegedly a quarterback allegedly quite free with his hands - as many girls are now coming forward with reports of their own encounters with this octopus with the alleged initials -"

"_Cough, cough!_" Phil gave his throat a warning clearing. He reflected, still a student reporter, Keely hadn't yet developed a reporter's overcoat of objectivity. With only her thinly evolved emotional callouses, already this event had rubbed her nerves raw.

"Um, then get some money shots, Phil."

"I would, but - "

"Phil! There are no "buts" in investigative journalism. We're live!

"Okay, but you should step away."

"Away? Which way?"

"How about out of the blood?" Phil panned the school camera down the front of his broadcasting partner, coming to halt at that money shot she asked him for: a shot of the gymnasium floor, the blood smeared basketball court, the blood surrounding Keely Teslow's new suede pumps because she was standing in the midst of a still sticky pool of the red stuff. Suddenly aware that Keely wasn't orating any longer, her cameraman raised the lens and focused on the reporter's face once more, broadcasting the disintegration of her repose before the entire student body.

"(GULP) Is this ... V-V-Via's?"

Understandably, Phil was mesmerized by Keely's query and the expression on her face, her complexion being drained of color even as her cheeks were being filled by ...

"Um, due to technical difficulties, we now return you to your regularly scheduled classroom. Answers to tonight's homework are: 1-A, 2-D, 3-FALSE, and 4-"

"_BAH-WHOOSH GUGH GUgh ugh ... _Ve-_BAHWOOSH!_"

"Huh? I thought you didn't like sloppy joes, Keely."

"_GOOSH! Guh._"

"So," Phil continued, "we'll be updating this report as more comes up - not more of this - of the story. Keely, can I get you a soda or something? Good day, H. G. Wells." Phil put down the camera and hurried over to Keely, just in time for her to custom detail his shoes mama birdie style.

"Sorry, Phil."

So was he. Normally, the smell of vomit would induce him to do likewise, but not this time. He would have liked to have given his feelings for Keely credit, but in truth, he had become so accustomed to swallowing his own bile when faced with this mother's many malfunctioned meals in this century that it had become second nature for Phil to keep everything down.

"'So'kay, Keels. At least we match now, both having ruined shoes."

"You can get that out with a little-," Keely automatically started offering advice, but Phil waved her off."

"That's okay. You know? It was time for a new pair of sneakers, anyway."

Keely started to cry.

Phil tried to fix.

A hug.

Keely continued to cry.

Back rub.

Feminine tears fell faster.

Assurances that everything, although not right now, would be.

Now, coughing set in.

Just when Phil was coming up empty on ideas on what to do next, Keely's cell interrupted. Reflex action, really, the need to check her messages despite how she was feeling, her concern for Via, the loss of beloved footwear, her stomach's betrayal of her secret lust for sloppy joes - (it was just a temporary craving, she fibbed to herself, just like all the other times. If only they weren't so darn sloppy!) It was from Via. She was alright, but there was trouble. Mr. Hackett was causing it now, not Bruno. And Owen ...

"You know what, Keels?" Sweet, Phil was still trying, "Let's go shopping after school. Shoe shopping. How's that sound? We both need a new pair. My treat. Of course, we'll have to put on new shoes first, at least I will, 'cuz what store is going to let me get within ten blocks, let along inside, with a pair of traveling reek runners like the-?"

"Huh? Never mind that now, Phil. Grab the camera."

A little slow, Phil was trying to keep up with Keely's 180s, as usual, "... all right. Um, Sloppy Joes? Really?"

Color returned to Keely's cheeks in a mild blush, "It was a dare! Okay?" Then in her most determined investigative reporter voice she declared, "Now, C'mon! It's time to save a hero!"


	7. 1

Disclaimer: "Pickford of the Future?" Never heard of it ... oh, "'Phil' of the Future." Um, yeah - have you? Oh. So, um, you probably know I don't own either of them, huh? No? Well, then, read on!

**Author's Note:** Statistics vary, not that it matters; they're unacceptable when they come along with numerators greater than zero. Chances of a woman being raped in the United States during her lifetime range from 1 out of 4 to 1 out of 6 nationally; one out of two in some large cities, like Los Angeles. Somewhere between teaching us mathematical axioms, sonnets, metal shop, and theatrics, you'd think they'd find time to teach us something we'd actually need in real life: empathy, compassion, respect, and self-defense. "... with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" was never intended as a suggestion. Remember ...

**"No" Means No.**

**1**

"I'm sorry, People, but H. G. Wells has a zero-tolerance policy considering violence on campus. I'm afraid this has been Owen's last day at school."

The visitors to his office were dumbfounded, struck by Hackett's detachment from reality. Owen was the hero here. How could Hackett ignore Owen's good deed? The answer: practice.

Outside his office, Miss Desmocker could actually feel the energy reverberating from inside as voices rose and fell, then rose again. She had heard it before, usually from only students. Miss D. wished she had heard it more often. In her opinion, Neil Hackett wasn't fit to supervise a disciplined ant farm, never mind a junior/senior high school - not that Principal Tillywack was any better. Why is it that incompetent bosses always picked those even less competent than themselves just to look better? Then she realized she had just answered her own question. Sighing deeply, she tried returning to work while her desk wasn't vibrating at the moment, reminding herself that - uh-oh! Here comes that Diffy boy again, at least it's not his sister - she's in here more often than she's in class.

"C'mon, Phil. Start shooting now for an authentic investigative shot. In three, two -"

"Keely, I do that part."

"You can't go in there, Kids. Mr. Hackett is having ... a talk with some people."

Voices rose from behind the wall, jiggling the remaining Halloween candies on her desk that Owen didn't finish off while their cellophane wrappers made scratching sounds wrestling in the candy dish. Looking up from the sweets, all three remain silent, waiting for a lull in the din from the other side of the door.

"If you'd like to speak to Mr. Hackett, you may have a seat over there."

"Yes, Ma'am," they both complied, since, at least, they weren't being sent away.

Drone-like, they sat opposite Miss Deskmocker's desk, until Keely snapped out of her fog clandestinely whispering, "Phil, we've got to get in there to help Owen and Via. What ya got in the old backpack that'll do the trick?"

Phil recognized that his girlfriend was attempting to be subtle, but she was still giving away that they were up to something, and right in front of Miss Deskmocker and everyone else in the office for tomato's sake.

Phil whispered, "Ixnay on the ackpackbay, Keely," but rifled through it anyway. Invisa-spray, wizrd - they'd be helpful, provided no one was watching, which they were. This called for modern technology. Phil held out his hand for Keely's phone, and answered her raised questioning brow with a "you'll see." A bit of rapid fire texting and Phil stood up and asked Keely, "Ready?" as he handed her back her cell.

"What did you -?"

Keely was cut-off by the sight of the door to Vice-Principal Hackett's office cracking open, a hand emerging urging them inside. They both immediately recognized the hand belonged to Via, and only hesitated in their dash for the door when eye contact was made with Miss Desmocker. The trio all froze in each other's glance, not knowing what to do next. Miss D was the adult, and the gate keeper to Mr. H's office, so she felt it was her duty to make a decision. Clearing her throat with a forced cough, she raised some papers in front of her eyes. Lowering them, she found the pair still frozen in place, so she motioned toward the door with her head, before beginning her search under her desk for a non-existent dropped pen. When she at last gave up her hunt, she found herself two students fewer.

Via's first action was to close the door behind Phil and Keely, throwing herself against it.

Mr. Hackett's first words to Phil and Keely were, "GET OUT! NO CAMERA! TESLOW! DIFFY! BACK TO CLASS!"

As everyone was standing and shouting, Owen grabbed a free chair, placed it's back against the closed door and sat down, all the while grinning like a Cheshire. His parents were still shouting at Hackett, who was now ignoring the both of them, his beady eyes locked on the reporters in his office. Keely wasn't fast enough to keep her microphone out of his hand.

"Ah-hah! There, Miss Teslow," he gloated. Taking his prize in his hand, Neil tried snapping her mic in two, but it resisted. Not to be foiled so close to victory, Phil's next door neighbor gave it a twist and removed it's battery before handing Keely back the two pieces of her microphone. "There will be no story about this, Keely."

"The public has a right to know, Mr. Hackett," Keely countered. "Freedom of the press -"

"Is quite limited, Miss Teslow, when it comes to student reporters," announced Mr. H, whipping out his pocket copy of the school's bylaws. He wasn't smiling on the outside, maybe the inside, as he had effectively silenced her. "Now, return to class. I'll talk later to both of you regarding the consequences of your barging into this office uninvited."

"I invited them."

"They're leaving!"

Owen's mother spoke quietly for the first time in what seemed like hours, "No, they stay. I want to hear what they have to say."

Neil Hackett hated dealing with mother's like Owen's. "Mama Bears," he labeled them. They were trouble, as they were tough, and hard to bluff or threaten because Mama Bears never backed down. The only ways to triumph over them are to either shake their confidence in their children's version of what happened, or to discredit the mothers themselves. Coax them to lie, to threaten, to at least raise their voice ... but a frigid chill ran down his back when they whispered. Trouble awaits - no, it's here due to Diffy.

BUT as acting principal, I CAN HANDLE IT. After all, it's not like I haven't been paying attention for the last six chapters. It is simply that I had chose not to recognized certain realities, like Owen's innocence. Teslow will first chatter passionately regarding the right of students to know what happens if someone goes to the defense of another student being assaulted, before getting on her soapbox about how girls can't feel safe coming to school if this is how it is going to be handled. Well, this is the real world, Miss Smarty-Reporter. All that is really needed is the illusion of control and safety. Those at the top can already see what is really important, and what's important is our school's ADA. If our average daily attendance drops, then less money will be doled out to the Pickford School District, which means budget cutbacks, such as eliminating vice-principal positions ... why is everyone staring at me?

Keely helped him out, "Maybe because you were speaking out loud?"

"(Gulp!) I've been spending too much time in detention with your sister, Phil," Mr. Hackett reflected.

The adults stare open-mouth at the vice-principal. Owen, Via and Keely snicker.

Phil adds, "So, you're sacrificing Owen, the hero, just to save your own job?"

Keely interrupted before Mr. H. could respond, "Phil. Award winning reporter here. 'So, you're sacrificing Owen, the hero, just to save your own job?'"

Everyone stared at Phil, then at Keely. "What?" she asked, oblivious to what everyone else in the room witnessed, even as she held her hand as if it held a microphone.

Hackett answered, playing along with Keely's air mic, "I didn't say that exactly."

"Actually, you pretty much did, Mr. Hackett. Right, Phil?"

"Yup. Got it right here, Keels," replied her cameraman, while patting his favorite camera. "When you disabled Keely's microphone, it's signal cut-out and the video cam's built in mic defaulted. I've got your admission recorded."

"That's school property, Mr. Diffy. Put in on my desk and return to class. I'll deal with you and Miss Teslow shortly."

Keely wasn't giving in so easily. "Mr. Hackett, you can't -"

The door slammed against Owen's chair, then proceeded to slide Owen out of the way. A round, burly man all of five foot four forced his way into the room, head first. Before Vice-Principal Hackett could object or command Miss Deskmocker to have this interloper wait his turn, Via identified him.

"Daddy!"

Captain Cobbler entered the room fully once Owen made way, his uniform marked him as a leader in a way that sweater vests never had achieved for the Vice-Principal. Via hadn't only texted Keely.

With a brevity that would have made that student, "Cliff Notes," jealous, the din of voices caught the Captain up to speed. He was listening, sure, but also eyeballing Owen, taking the measure of the boy, all the while Owen's parents made good use of themselves as a physical barrier between camera-carrying Phil and Mr. Hackett. Neil Hackett wasn't getting anywhere here, and it was causing him to flash back to his worst classroom days, trying to manage wild classes without success. What to do? He scanned his desk for an answer. Newton balls? Licorice decanter? Executive-size Silly Putty? How'd that get there?

Finally, his gaze fell upon his desk's name plate: "Vice-Principal" in large letters; "Neil Hackett" in small ones. He was going to miss that title. Picking it up, he noticed the weight of the item. IT WAS TEMPTING - for just a moment - to consider using it as a projectile. He'd never get away with it, and there were too man targets in him office. Yes, he shuddered, he had indeed been spending too much time with Phil's sister, but he gripped the name plate harder all the same, then pounded it on the desk in anger. Everyone looked his way, quieting down.

Surprised himself, Hackett cleared his throat, then took charge of the new situation, "Uh (coff-coff), well, uh; this is, uh, still a school, a citadel of learning. Um, so you students get back to class. I'll finish up with Owen and his parents and then see Mr. Cobbler."

"Mr. Hackett," Keely asked, "what are you going to do about Owen?"

"Now, Miss Teslow, that's really a private matter just between Owen's parents and the school. Go to class."

"But -"

Via's father spoke up, "Children, your commander and chief has issued you an order. It's your duty to obey. Don't worry. We grown-ups will handle everything."

"But-?"

"Dismissed."

In single file, the unhappy tenth graders all but marched out the doorway, treated as if their opinions didn't matter. Mr. Hackett was never so happy to have students leave his office.

"Thank you, Mr. Cobbler."

"My pleasure, Vice- Principal Hackett. Just courtesy between the services, as it were."

"Yes, now if you'll wait outside, we won't be much longer, will we?" Hackett eyed the remaining adults.

"Of course," Via's dad agreed, "unless the parents of the boy who rescued my only daughter would like me to stay."

After a couple of nods, the door was closed without anyone exiting, leaving the teens out of the loop, almost. Thick walls. Too thick to make out words; high pitched girly screaming? That was another matter entirely. Suddenly, the four high schoolers were content it leaving, retreating from the office with even a little bounce in their step.

"Parents," they really know how to talk and make other's listen," Owen snickered; Via on his arm.

Keely and Phil watched Vee and Owen take their time going back to class, or somewhere, together.

Suddenly, Keely had a brainstorm! "Phil! You didn't! You replicated Via's dad and sent him -" Keely's theorizing suddenly halted, interrupted by smashing sounds behind them. Nope. Can't replicate that level of parental intensity; besides, replicants always seemed interested only in themselves. "Do you think Miss Deskmocker will know to cancel Mr. Hackett's appointments for the rest of the day?"

"And hold all calls," Phil added. "I wonder if we should tell Pim she has a freebie day today when it comes to punishment?"

Keely hugged him and shook her head "no," wondering if she'd ever get to broadcast the story. Phil was now worried about Pim overhearing what Keely had just said. Behind them, at her desk, enjoying a piece from her own candy dish for a change, Miss Deskmocker was smiling and busy pretending know what was going on inside the neighboring office; ahead of Keely and Phil and down the hall to the left, Owen and Via were still walking together. Even with the day he had had so far, Owen wasn't at all convinced that his luck with women had changed. "Give it time," he told himself, "and everything will go back to normal, Via-wise."

Talking himself into believing his assumption, he tested the waters, "So, I guess, once things settle down, we're back you seeing me as a fool?"

"No," was all a shocked Via could respond with. How could he thing that?

Owen tries to sabotage his chances with Via a couple more times before she's had enough of his negative attitude and assumptions of knowing how she would feel tomorrow. Each time she told him "no," but he would listen. Before he could do so again, Via interrupts him, kissing him wettly, a strand of saliva linking them elongates, then snaps, depositing itself on Owen's upper lip.

"Shh-. Boys,"her eyes roll, "Listen up and remember this. When a girl tell you 'no,' 'no' means 'no'."

Owen knew right away that hers was the sweetest "no" from a girl he'd ever received.


	8. 0

Disclaimer and Admission: Not owning Phil of the Future makes me feel like the thirteenth donut; therefore, here's a free sample of an upcoming story entitled:

**Donut Ever Speak To Me Again!**

"You know my name?"

"I heard some students talking. You've been here a while and hardly touched your order. You look like someone who really needed someone to listen to her."

"No, really, I'm fi-"

"You're sitting here, not at a little table to be with your own thoughts, but at a table that seats six. Whether you realize it or not, you're inviting people to sit down next to you -"

"I can leave if someone needs this table for -"

"-and once one person breaks the ice, others follow - look out, here comes one now."

"Oh, no," Keely winced. Of all the donuts shops in the world, why did Diffy decided to come inside and plunk down next to her now?

"Make room, Teslow."

"Go away, Pim."

Author's Note: Joel Brooks, aka **Adelaide Messerschmitt, **has a recurring role as Mr. Polk on Shake It Up!


End file.
